Recitals (aka-Another Reason To Not Have Kids)

If the last three hours of my life have taught me anything, it's this:  When a word begins with "RE", that's your sign that nothing good is about to happen--repossession, revenge, rectal exams--see.   Recitals are no different.

Recitals, as well as rectal exams, have their strong points.  At a recital, you finally get to see the fruit of your child's labor.  All those hours spent practicing and studying come to fruition, in musical format, so that you can see, hear, and determine for yourself----Am I getting my money's worth?

  If these seats are any indication, the answer is, No, I am not.

 If I could just sit and watch my daughter do her thing, recitals would be amazing.  However, that is not the case.  Last year, we learned the hard way, that you have to sit through all three hours of the recital just to watch your kid's 5-minute routine.  As one who likes to learn from his mistakes, we enrolled her in an extra class this year.  One extra class gets her into three more routines.  That's simple math and a great deal.  Sure, we pay a little more for the second class, but can you put a price on your child's happiness?

 Yes. Yes you can. The price is $52/month.

So this year, twenty minutes of those three hours are spent watching our little princess pirouette, tumble, and cart-wheel to her heart's content.  The problem lies in the other 2 hours and 40 minutes.  You have to watch other people's kids.  And their kids suck.

It's like this:  when you watch your child on stage, whether it's playing the piano, singing, or dancing, it's amazing.  It doesn't matter how bad your kid actually is.  Parents are blinded.  It's called the American Idol effect and it makes for a great first few episodes of reality television--the exception being Sanjaya.

When Leah is on stage, I'm in the zone, focused, concentrating on every move she makes.  There are no other kids up there.  It's just her.  It's awesome, she's awesome, everything is awesome.  Then, she exits stage right and I'm left having to watch your kids stink up the place.

With nobody to hold my undivided attention, my eyes scan the entire stage watching a dozen students twirl around and flail limbs to their own beat.  Good Lord, what's wrong with these kids?  I've seen Kung-Fu movies that were less out-of-sync.

The one exception is the 3-4-year old group.  Those kids are money.  One kid just sat down on stage all night, while another one faced the wrong direction.  Best.  Performance. Of the night.

Watching the little kids is fun whether they are your children or not.  Watching the older kids is sorta creepy.  The creepiness level is largely dependent upon the song chosen.  I don't want to watch a bunch of prepubescent girls shake their stuff to lyrics like, "Where you thinking of me when you made love to him."

I don't know what the song was, but it provides a strong case for encouraging your children to listen to heavy metal.  And, if this rant has done anything, I hope it encourages you to avoid having children.  Or, to at least avoid enrolling them in extracurricular activities that result in recitals.  If you find yourself in a situation where you have already procreated, don't worry.  There are a couple good things about kids.  Like this.

The Big 0-5

It's the girl's birthday today.  I figured I'd let her create her own lunch menu.

mEmoRies...

Because the best childhood memories come with medical bills.

Note To Self #4

The Girl:  What you doing Daddy?

Me:  The dishes.

The Girl:  You need help?

Me: I'd love some help if you want to.

The Girl:  I not want to.  Bye-bye.

Note to Self:  Never give the kids options.  It leaves an easy out.

 To be fair, she had a makeover she needed to attend.

Safety First

A parent can never be too careful when it comes to baby-proofing the house.  There are dangerous obstacles everywhere you turn.  That coffee table with your hipster photography book on it sitting over there?  A new baby learning how to walk is the perfect height for catastrophe.  One failed footstep and your baby is blind.

For the rest of her life!

  She's upset just thinking about it.

Do you want that to happen?  I didn't think so.  Those electrical outlets?  Better plug 'em up quick, 'cause that three-pronged outlet is a one-way ticket to toddlercution.  And just because those throw pillows look soft and harmless doesn't mean they're not waiting to kill your child.  Once your child figures out how to unzip the cover, it's only a matter of time before she pulls out the stuffing and chokes on it or puts the case over her head.

You can never be too safe.

That's why we take precaution when Libby watches Netflix:

Talking Turkey and the Ham Harangue

I just came home from a trip to the grocery store--the necessity of which is a topic of much debate in this household.  My father-in-law is visiting tonight and we need something for dinner.  "I could make an appetizer (it's a kick-ass Charleston Cheese Dip) and we could have sandwiches", I told my wife.  "Do we have good lunch meat?", she asked.

This question drives me crazy.

What does 'good' mean?  Who's definition of good?

I went grocery shopping yesterday, but apparently, the lunch meat in our fridge is not good enough for the family to dine on.  Our son can brown bag it five days a week, but when the father-in-law, who visits once a month, stops by I'm supposed to roll out the red carpet of cold cuts?  Don't get me wrong, I get along with my father-in-law, I just don't see the need to buy "good" lunch meat when we have lunch meat that's "good enough for our son to eat every day at  school" already in our fridge.

I tell her the lunch meat is fine and then she looks at me like I'm evil.

"What about bread?", she asks?  "Yes, we have bread".  "No, I mean like kaiser rolls or hoagies."

It's at this point that I feel my wife forgets the state I was in when she first met me.  I was a young bachelor (sexy, I might add) living with his best friend...and his friend's girlfriend...and another friend on occasion...and sometimes whoever might pass out on our couch--all this in a one bedroom apartment.

We didn't have money for "good" lunch meat.   Most of our paychecks went to beer.  I'm not talking about the "good" imported beer either.  I'm talking about 7-dollars for a thirty pack kind of beer.  That left us enough money to buy a couple packages of Budding lunch meat and the occasional treat--a QuickTrip sandwich.

  Because nothing helps that 23-cent can of beer go down like a 59-cent package of turkey.

Background really puts things into perspective.  I feel like I'm throwing money away buying Hillshire Farm's or Sara Lee's meat at 6-dollars a pound.  Now she wants me to go to Schnuck's and pay 10-dollars a pound for some "good" lunch meat.  It's all the same to me, but I'll do it for her.  Besides, I can pick up a six-pack of the "good" beer while I'm there.